


Endear

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Established Relationship, Gang Violence, Gun Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Plot/Plotless, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 05:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "The warmth of Hayato’s presence makes Takeshi smile even with danger as heavy in the air as the curl of gunsmoke around them." Takeshi is always appreciative of Hayato, even in the middle of a fight.





	Endear

“I _knew_ it,” Hayato spits from his position by Takeshi’s elbow. “Didn’t I say it was a trap?” He pushes back to brace his shoulders against the support of the overturned table the pair of them have taken cover behind, his jaw set hard on the irritation crackling audibly under his voice. “There’s no _way_ the Barberos were going to make a deal with us, the traitorous bastards.”

Takeshi lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “We didn’t have an agreement with them,” he points out. “They were free to turn on us any time they wanted.” He ducks farther behind the barrier as a burst of gunfire spatters against the wall on their far side; Hayato hisses next to him and presses in close against Takeshi’s arm, as if proximity will grant them additional protection. The warmth of the other’s presence makes Takeshi smile even with danger as heavy in the air as the curl of gunsmoke around them. “And it _was_ Hibari who attacked first.”

“That idiot,” Hayato growls. “He’s always so irritable when he comes to these meetings. We should have left him to his green tea and his Zen garden.”

Takeshi huffs a laugh. “I’m glad we have him now, though.” There’s a shout from around the corner, the particular high yelp that Hibari always draws free from those foolish enough to stand in his way; Takeshi barely has time to hear it before it breaks off as sharply as if cut with a knife. Next to him Hayato grimaces, his mouth pulling down onto a frown to match the crease of tension at his forehead, and Takeshi can’t help but gust an exhale of near-laughter in spite of himself. “I don’t envy anyone who tries to go up against him.”

“I don’t envy anyone caught in this mess,” Hayato says. He tips back against the table behind them, turning his head as he frowns at the top edge of the barrier. “Including us. How many are out there?”

“I saw three,” Takeshi says. “Two at the left and one back at the end of the main corridor.”

“Bastard,” Hayato growls. “I’m going to have to snipe him.”

“Cover?” Takeshi suggests. “How many shots do the other two have left?”

“Four,” Hayato tells him. “One and three, I think.”

Takeshi nods. “Okay,” he says, and reaches to press his hand to Hayato’s shoulder as much to press the other to stillness as to steady himself. “Hang on.” He steadies his footing, braces his grip on the handle of his katana, and then rises at once to make a target of himself to the three enemies in range. He ignores the one at the end of the corridor -- there’s more distance to that attacker, and it’s the other two whose fire he needs to draw -- and instead turns towards the other pair, raising his sword up over his shoulder as he throws himself forward and right over the top of the table to sprint towards them. Takeshi can see the panic in their faces, can see the shaky speed with which they raise their weapons into sloppy aim; the first one spends his shot immediately, aiming so recklessly Takeshi hardly has to shift his footing to keep himself clear of it. The second is slower, more cautious in his judgment, but Takeshi is moving fast, and he’s almost atop them by the time the other has lined up his shot. Takeshi ducks as he steps in close, timing his motion to the press of his opponent’s finger on the trigger of his gun, and when he comes up it’s with his sword swinging too to catch the flat of the blade right against the midsection of the first attacker’s chest. The other folds up at once, the air gusting out of his lungs as his eyes go wide with instinctive panic at what Takeshi knows too well feels like he’s choking, and Takeshi lets the momentum carry him forward into the second to slam his shoulder up and into the grip of the other’s braced-out arms. The impact draws another round from the gun, so loud Takeshi can feel the crack of it ringing in his ears, and Takeshi turns in at once, closing to keep the other from getting a clear shot at the deadly range they’re at now. His sword slides away from his first opponent, he brings the edge up between them again; but his attacker is faster than Takeshi was expecting him to be, and he has his weapon up already to aim the dark barrel of his gun directly towards Takeshi’s chest.

“ _Move_!” The shout is grating, dragging rough over the insistence under the word, but Takeshi knows that voice as well as he knows the feel of air in his lungs. There’s an insistence to it, a raw edge of command in even that one short word, but Takeshi stays still for a moment, for a breath, keeping himself between his opponent and the straight-line shot over Takeshi’s shoulders to Hayato behind him. Then the opponent’s wrist flexes, his finger tightens, and Takeshi tips himself sideways, shifting to the right by a bare handful of inches. It’s not enough to get him out of range of the explosion of his attacker’s gun but it’s not meant to; all he needs to do is duck out of the way and turn his head aside from the cascade of crimson flames that burst like a firework even against the darkness of his shut eyes where he’s turning aside from the finishing blow on his attacker. There’s a grunt of pain, the smell of singed hair, and then Takeshi is opening his eyes and blinking spots from his vision as the enemy just in front of him collapses back against the wall he was blown against to fall to the ground along with his partner, who is still hunched on the ground wheezing for air.

“Whoa,” Takeshi breathes, tasting the smoke of gunpowder in the air as he fills his lungs in the moment of calm granted to him, and it’s then that there’s a voice, “ _Takeshi_ ” sharp and savage from behind him, and Takeshi starts to turn just as a hand closes at his shoulder to drag him into a stumbling turn back against the wall behind him.

“You are going to give me a heart attack,” Hayato growls. Takeshi has a few inches of height on the other but it doesn’t really make a difference when Hayato is leaning in against him like he is, every fiber of his body trembling with the tension of frightened anger. “You could have been _shot_.”

“Ha,” Takeshi laughs, the sound spilling warm and radiant through him like a byproduct of the combat adrenaline still riding tension across his shoulders and in his grip on his sword. “I didn’t, though.” He tips his head towards the edge of the wall at his back, trying to parse back through the rush and ring of the combat so recently around him. “Did you get the one in the corridor?”

Hayato snorts. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks with a toss of his head to make the question clearly rhetorical. “I took him out as soon as that first shot missed you.”

Takeshi beams down at the other. “Wow. I didn’t even hear you fire.”

“That’s because you never pay any attention to what’s around you when you’re fighting,” Hayato says with something like an edge still against his voice; but he’s easing back from tension, Takeshi can feel the press of the fingers at his shoulder easing with every breath he takes as Hayato’s flare of panic gives way to the satisfaction of their victory. “It only took one shot. He was doomed as soon as I saw him around the corner.”

“Mm,” Takeshi hums. “You’re incredible, Hayato.”

“Yeah,” Hayato says, his voice warming over the word as his hold relaxes further before dropping down as he fiddles with the box weapon strapped to his arm; then he looks back to Takeshi, his forehead creasing on tension as he frowns hard at the other. “You’d better not be teasing me.”

Takeshi holds his free hand up palm-out in surrender. “No, I promise.”

Hayato’s suspicion doesn’t ease. “Why are you still smiling?”

Takeshi has to laugh at that even as he lets his hand fall to his side. “I just am,” he says. “You’re so cute, Hayato.”

Hayato rocks back on his heels, his expression collapsing into shock that rapidly veers back around to offense. “ _Cute_?” Takeshi nods; Hayato braces his hand at the back of the weapon at his arm, the action as clear as words would be to make a threat out of the shift of his weight forward onto his toes and the step he takes towards Takeshi still against the wall. “I just killed two men and you think I’m _cute_.”

“You shot them,” Takeshi admits. “They might still be alive.”

“ _You_ ,” Hayato growls, leaning in so close the grate of his voice falls like a purr against Takeshi’s mouth. His lashes dip, his gaze shifting over the other’s features like he’s trying to gain traction on them; and then he huffs, and reaches up, and grabs at the back of the other’s head to drag him down. Takeshi comes at once, ducking in and down in immediate surrender to the rough force of Hayato’s hold; his mouth is soft as Hayato comes up onto his toes to press his lips flush against Takeshi’s own. Takeshi’s lashes dip, his breath spills into a sigh of pleasure, and Hayato’s fingers tighten at the soft short of his hair to hold him steady against the force of the other’s mouth. Hayato lingers there for a moment, the friction of his mouth distracting Takeshi entirely; and then he rocks back onto his heels and Takeshi opens his eyes again as Hayato’s grip slides free to linger just along the collar of his coat rather than fisting in his hair.

“Enough of that,” Hayato says, as sternly as if Takeshi is the one who pulled him into their momentary indulgence. “You ready to do this?”

Takeshi tightens his hold on the katana at his side and ducks his head into a nod, even if he can’t hold back the soft of the smile at his lips. “Yep.”

“Alright.” Hayato lets his hand draw up and around to press his hand against the side of Takeshi’s face for just a moment; then he draws his touch away as part of the same motion of him taking a step back and lifting a hand to brace at the side of the weapon on his arm. “Let’s go fuck some shit up.” Takeshi laughs at that -- he can’t help himself -- but his hold on his katana is steady, and when Hayato steps out from around the corner to aim his gun down the corridor Takeshi is hard on his heels, bringing his sword up and out to cover Hayato’s advance as the other lifts his gun to aim at the presently clear space before them.

No matter what they’re facing, Takeshi’s never felt as at home as he does at Hayato’s side.


End file.
